The Ranger's Final Stand
by ClareRoseMartin
Summary: Arthas Menethil has broken through the gates of Quel'Thals and Ranger-General Sylvanas Windrunner must do all she can to protect her people from the Scourge. Somewhat based on what I read on the Wiki and the LOTH video, I let my imagination go freely when writing this, including relationships with Halduron Brightwing and also her sisters Alleria and Vereesa.


Sylvanas Windrunner stood, with her fellow Elven rangers, on guard by the gates of Quel'Thalas. They all had their bows at the ready, their arrows knocked. The smell of smoke and oil filled the air as cracks began to show in the wall.

"At the ready," Sylvanas whispered.

Guilt mingled with the blood that was running through her body. It was hot and she was sweating, yet she felt cold. How long had she been Ranger-General? She couldn't remember. Long enough to know what to do in a crisis situation. Still, she was comparing this Scourge invasion to the damn Amani trolls and other "minor" invasions from orcs and whatnot. This was huge. This threatened the lives of her people. She asked the runners to protect the High Elves of Quel'Thalas to the best of thier ability while she tried to hold Arthas off. He refused to leave in peace, like she'd asked him to, which only left one option: to fight back. She'd gladly give her life if it meant saving her people. So why did she feel so guilty?

Because she'd done all she could to stop Arthas even getting to the final gate, and he still made it. She'd hidden the keys, destroyed the bridge, confronted him with words of pure confidence that ran from her head to her lips with ease, wielding Sunstrider's bow with pride, and she'd failed.

Not yet, though. This was the final phase of her battle and she wasn't going to fail. Failing wasn't an option. She hadn't chosen her rangers and warriors by size but by skill. They could keep their mind clear and their aim accurate. Intelligence was as mandatory as strength, if not more.

As if she was an easy target herself. All the High Elves in Quel'Thalas and she was chosen as Ranger-General, standing by Kael'Thas Sunstrider, or in this case, Lor'Themar Theron. She was even given the bow of Dath'Remar Sunstrider when she became Ranger-General. She'd never felt such pride as she first held that bow in her hands. She remembered catching her reflection in the water and seeing herself smile as she held the bow. It was heavy at first but she soon adapted and mastered it. Was the best Ranger-General in Quel'Thalas an easy target for a Death Knight of the Lich King?

Hand to hand, no. She had her rangers, and Arthas had his Scourge, but she still felt as though they were going to be outnumbered. You can never trust any kind of undead, mindless Scourge or otherwise.

Her three fingers still had the string pulled back on Sunstrider's bow. Finally, the gate collapsed, and what she saw next made her stomach turn.

Thousands upon thousands of vile, undead Scourge; abominations with entrails hanging out of their ripped skin, mindless banshees lost in their own agony, shades and wraiths, humanoid figures with slashed faces, rotting flesh, fragile bones, innards visible behind papery skin and oozing a green liquid that was probably the blood of the undead. Arthas sat in the middle, on his steed, and caught her eye. His expression said it all: she had failed.

"Shindu Fallanah!" she cried. "Await my orders!"

They were hopelessly outnumbered. She had less than a hundred mortal rangers against these freaks of nature that were under the control of the Lich King. They all wielded long, spiked weapons; blades, maces, axes and spears and the like. Could a few arrows truly harm them?

She needed to think of something to do. If only Kael'Thas were here...she found herself suddenly longing for him. He was always an expert in battle strategies and use of magic. They never truly agreed on each other's points as she had no use for magic and he, the bow, but he was a loyal ally of Quel'Thalas and she stood by him and his position as Regent Lord of Quel'Thalas. Lor'Themar Theron had taken his place while he was studying magic in Dalaran. Perhaps Lor'Themar had some kind of strategy...

"Mistress, what do we do?" one of her rangers whispered to her.

The presence of the Scourge seemed to be having some sort of affect on the air. Sweat ran down her face and she felt her skin blister. She longed to pull her ranger's hood down, but didn't dare let go of the string on the bow. They needed more soldiers, as many as they could get. She could get to Lor'Themar and have him summon more soldiers. If there was any fantastic warrior, mage, hunter or warlock in Quel'Thalas that could persevere through this invasion, he'd know.

"We're outnumbered," she whispered. "We need more soldiers. I must get to Lor'Themar and request more. Until then…"

She couldn't bring herself to finish. How could less than a hundred rangers hold off all those Scourge long enough for her to get to Lor'Themar Theron in Sunfury Spire? She couldn't guarantee she'd meet a runner on the way up to send word and it'd take twenty minutes to get up there even she ran as fast as she could for the entire duration.

"Mistress, we'll hold them off," her ranger whispered.

Sylvanas was still locked in thought.

When an arrow passes through Dath'Remar's bow, it flames. What reaction did the Scourge have to fire? Couldn't be good anyway.

Spotting six trees that bordered the gates, she had a very stupid idea.

"No. I'll set those trees on fire," she whispered back rapidly, much to their confusion. One gave a small laugh. "Create a barrier between us and the Scourge. They can't be immune to fire, can they? Keep them distracted and whatever you do, keep them back at all costs. I'll try and summon more soldiers as fast as I can,"

Her rangers nodded, surprisingly taking in every word she was saying.

At the gate, Arthas appeared to be getting bored, studying the cursed blade Frostmourne, as though he was inspecting it for dust. He'd strike at any second.

"For Quel'Thalas," Sylvanas whispered.

The Rangers repeated quietly.

Then she released the first arrow at the tree.

The Scourge charged the second her arrow launched itself from the string. It imbued and hit the tree, engulfing it in flames.

"FIRE!" Sylvanas called. "FIRE AT WILL! THEY SHALL NOT PASS!"

Dodging the arrows of her fellow rangers with ease, Sylvanas shot five more arrows at the trees and, after a split second of admiring the rapidly spreading flame, started to walk backwards.

"Be safe, my soldiers. Do all you can to keep back the Scourge while I fetch help. I hope to see you again," she said, loud enough for them all to hear. She added "For Quel'Thalas" a second time, and again, they repeated.

Then she turned and ran for Silvermoon.

Perhaps it was the Scourge or perhaps she was simply too hot a day and she was running too quickly or she was under stress, but Sylvanas felt as though the air had gotten much heavier. Sweat doused her entire body, her throat was as dry as wood and her arms were blistered, which she couldn't quite explain. In other words, she was being weighed down. Forcing herself to speed up, she felt as though the heat was following her, but she didn't dare look around; she may get distracted.

She was getting close to Silvermoon, but the dryness in her throat and the cracks in her lips were soon too hard to ignore. The taste of smoke filled her lungs and she coughed, suddenly longing for rain. She felt sweat trickle behind her ear and caught a little droplet of the strand of hair that framed her face. All the moisture was leaving her body, her mouth. The smoke was making her head feel fuzzy, as though she was standing in a dream. More than likely the effects of thirst.

How far behind was the enemy? Surely not right behind her, anyway. She hadn't heard anything but the wind whistling in her ears and the rasping of her own breath against the smoke. If she could just stop somewhere, anywhere, for a quick sip of water...

Sylvanas reached Stillwhisper Pond, less than a ten minute run from Sunfury Spire. The water was clean and cool and she had to resist the impulse to just leap right into it and let it wash off the sweat and filth. She cupped her hands in it and began to drink. It trickled down her throat, cooling down the sudden heat that enflamed her body. After she was done drinking, she doused her blistered skin until they'd faded to a baby pink, then moisturized her cracked lips. One crack began to bleed and stung slightly when doused, but it gave her such relief that she felt as though she'd just woken up, full of energy, after a long, peaceful night's sleep.

Then, her head cleared, she began to think logically.

How could she have ran, for ten minutes straight with immense speed and desperation, past her fellow Elves and not hear one of them regard the smoke that was weighing her down? How could she have missed the desperation in their eyes, their mouths working as though they were calling her name? Was that the intention of the smoke? To mess with her mind?

Taking a deep breath, she turned and resisted imbuing an arrow and impaling her arm for being so bloody stupid.

It wasn't just smoke that was sedating her, it was fire. Not the few flames that she imbued with Dath'remar's bow to delay the Scourge, but mighty, massive flames tinting almost green. It was the roar of flames she heard in her ears, not the wind! The rasping of her breath could surely have been the rasping of others, if that was the case.

Were the Scourge immune to fire? Could that be? They passed through the barrier of flames she'd created...

"No..." she muttered. "Impossible..."

If the Scourge were immune to fire and had passed through the gate, her rangers were surely slain. She knew them; they'd never give up without a fight. Unless they were still fighting...

Sylvanas was starting to hope that if she wished and prayed hard enough there'd be a way things would out for the better, until she caught sight of the Scourge again, marching through Quel'Thalas with their mighty weapons, slaying all who stood in their way.

She felt like sobbing, but she'd been weak enough at this stage. She had to save whoever could be saved.

But how? By abandoning her dear allies, friends and family to be burned to death, or worse, torn apart by the Scourge? They'd passed through the flames unharmed, for whatever reason that may be (curse the Gods, she wished Kael'Thas was here to guide her through that!) so obviously the fire could do no harm. They were also undead, which made the task of killing them again even more difficult...perhaps they reformed.

Oh, Arthas. What went on in that knight's mind, she'd never know. He probably lost his sanity ages ago and was now ready to take it out on the High Elves of Quel'Thalas. Who knew how many already lay dead or perhaps still dying, suffering...being made undead...

She shook the image from her head and tried to strategize.

She could still make it to Lor'Themar Theron if she ran fast enough, but the Scourge were proving tricky to beat. They were beginning to catch up. And anyway, her beloved homeland was already burning away. Even if she did get to Sunfury Spire on time, what would Quel'Thalas be but a frozen wasteland when she returned to be an alliance to those who had already fallen?

The best bet was a runner. Just somebody who could send word to Lor'Themar and have him send more soldiers. He was close with Halduron Brightwing, another fellow ranger. She'd seen him shoot; he was fantastic, and a great assistance to her position and her life. She suddenly longed for him too. Not his strategizing, but his warmth, his presence, his sheer company...

_Stop it!_ she told herself. _This is no time to fall in love! Think! _

She needed a runner. And she knew several. If they passed word while she stood vigilent and fought, they may just have a chance.

Hot and sweaty, Sylvanas pulled down her ranger's hood and unsheathed two long blades that hung on her felt. She hung Dath'Remar's bow on her back, knowing that arrows were unlikely to cause much damage to the undead. She charged for the Scourge and, as though in a dream, began slashing and stabbing the Scourge until several dozen lay dead around her. She stayed vigilent, keeping an eye out for a runner, but she saw nothing but the Scourge.

And they were murdering her people.

"No! NO!" she screamed towards her rangers.

So they'd made it back from the gate. Sylvanas ran up to them, her swords casually slashing and killing another few dozen Scourge.

She felt like sobbing. Her rangers were so brave, so loving...yet they were hopelessly outnumbered. A young ranger with dark hair screamed in horror as, with the casual toss of a spear, a boy that was clearly her brother dropped dead beside her.

"FALL BACK!" Sylvanas cried. "YOU'RE SURROUNDED!"

The girl raised her head and their eyes met. Tears ran down her face.

"We've lost," she mouthed.

"No...no..." Sylvanas muttered, becoming hopeless.

"I want my brother..." she said, suddenly sobbing.

Sylvanas felt pain rip through her body.

"Sweetheart..." she said in a soft, kind voice, the kind she never thought she'd use in battle.

Then the girl's eyes widened as a spear entered her chest and she collapsed to the ground.

Sylvanas screamed in grief and rage as she charged towards the monsters that killed her rangers. She felt blades slash through her skin with a painful swipe but she swung and stabbed until she'd gained her vengeance for the rangers that had already given their lives for Quel'Thalas. How many had she taken down? A hundred or so? Did it matter?

The Scourge were charging to Silvermoon. If they entered those gates...even Dath'Remar could be lying dead by the time the sun set.

They were easy to kill with blades, seeing as their skin was so fragile, but there were so many of them and they seemed to be ravenous for her flesh. All around her, hundreds of her kin were dropping dead, either fighting or being taken by surprise. She could have sworn a desperate child screamed "Sylvanas!" but she'd heard a lot of things that day.

Time seemed to be going way too fast that day, for both her and the Scourge. She made it to the gates of Silvermoon so fast, she felt like she'd always been there. But the Scourge had already got past the gates.

And Arthas was there.

Sylvanas became more aware of the heat of the blood that was running down her face. She spat some off her lips and glared at the Death Knight with hatred. Her head was spinning, and her body felt colder, which made her blood feel even hotter. Sheathing the swords, she noticed her hands were beginning to tremble.

Were these the effects of Frostmourne?

She kept her hand on her swords.

"You could have left peacefully," she said, her voice quivering with fury. "And this would never have happened,"

Arthas jumped off his steed, chuckling.

"You poor thing," he taunted. "You just don't think rationally, do you?"

Sylvanas pushed a strand of blood-soaked hair off her face. Her body felt like it was freezing in ice water.

"This is what was _meant_ to happen, Sylvanas," the Death Knight said. "We planned this through. We knew you'd ask us to leave and we knew you'd put up a fight. You're very well known, Sylvanas Windrunner,"

Sylvanas glared, but she began to feel afraid. What would he do to her? And what would happen to the rest of her people if she was killed?

"I vowed I'd protect Quel'Thalas with my life and my dying breath," she spat.

Arthas laughed. "We'll see about that. It looks as though you've already lost, little elf,"

"Then I shall make my stand here," Sylvanas said.

Even as she said it, she knew it was hopeless. Dath'Remar's bow still hung on her back, but it felt like a million miles away. She had two blades, but what were they against Frostmourne?

Arthas had her pinned against the wall before she could even make an attempt to reach for her bow. Frostmourne was at the very tip of her throat, and ice seemed to run through her body. She gasped as the face of the girl she had witnessed die earlier appeared in the blade. She wasn't a victim of Frostmourne...maybe she was just going insane? Or was it the fact that she was simply a victim of Arthas, not Frostmourne?

"You can stay here for now," Arthas snarled. "I'm not done with you, Sylvanas Windrunner,"

He lowered Frostmourne, much to Sylvanas's surprise. Was he letting her go?

Then she felt a blade pierce her shoulder and she screamed in pain.

She dropped to the stone blocks below her as Arthas and the rest of the Scourge headed into Silvermoon. The pain was hardly bearable. She was gasping quick, searing breaths, trying to ease the flow of her blood, yet the stinging, burning sensation began to spread through her body.

She'd endured stab wounds before, but very minor, and never with the sensation that felt like her body was freezing into place. It was obviously a poison-tipped knife. And it wasn't Frostmourne. It couldn't possibly be. The pain she felt now compared to what she felt when the tip was pressed lightly against her throat...there wasn't much difference. She felt if Frostmourne entered her skin, the pain would be unbearable. It was just about bearable now. Arthas clearly meant to weaken her.

Oh, how was she even sane enough to have this entering her head!?

What did he mean when he said "I'm not done with you, Sylvanas Windrunner,"? Why didn't he just kill her?

Because he'd had to fight her every step of the way to enter her beloved Quel'Thalas. Because she'd tried to outsmart him. She'd delayed him too long and he'd gotten too impatient. He wanted to murder her people before the sunrise, and he had to wait until the sunset.

It was sick, but it was the only reason she could find as to why he'd let her live. Unless she was dying...but she'd seen how fast the Scourge could kill. How fast they'd murdered that girl and her brother. She knew how fast Arthas could kill, too, with Frostmourne in hand. She'd never seen it, but she'd heard of the Death Knights, and the legend of the cursed blade.

This guy was next in line for the throne? Unbelievable.

Then it struck her. The poison. The chill. The freezing sensation.

_Paralysis. _

Maybe Arthas wasn't as idiotic as he seemed. He definitely chose the poison correctly. If she couldn't move, she couldn't escape the agony he'd put her through.

The worst pain she'd felt was knowing that there was nothing else she could do for her people. She had failed. Her rangers were dead. Who knew what happened behind the gates of Silvermoon? Lor'themar Theron, Dath'Remar Sunstrider, Rommath...would they all die because she had been overcome by Undeath? By Arthas?

What could she do? The poison was spreading. By the time it intoxicated every nerve, she wouldn't be able to move. She may as well just spend the rest of her time having some control over her body to get her away from the gates of Silvermoon, hide somewhere. Arthas was planning some savage, brutal attack against her. He didn't keep her alive for nothing. If she was to die, she'd die in her own time, her own way, live with her fellow rangers in tranquility forever. He'd _never_ be the one to kill her! Not him!

Struggling and gasping, she made it onto her feet. It hurt, but she persevered. She let her legs run towards Stillwhisper Pond. How much sweat could she hold in her body? She felt it run down her back. Her Ranger-General's clothes were torn and stained with her blood. Her shoulder still bled, but the flow was slowing down.

She made it to a beautiful area of clean, sweet-smelling trees and bushes before she collapsed, coughing and gasping. Her legs were beginning to freeze into place. The paralysis was spreading. She was glad to have fallen on her back, because the sun was beginning to set, and she could see it perfectly from where she lay. It was the most beautiful sunset she had ever seen, glowing orange, red, yellow, purple, blue...perfect.

She raised one arm above her head, the other flat out beside her. Her left knee jutted out, the ankle just touching the right. It was about as comfortable as she could get. Looking up at the sunset one last time, she let tears slide sideways down her face and allowed her eyes to flutter shut. But she never slept.

The paralysis wasn't as painful as she'd expected. Her shoulder throbbed every now and then, but it wasn't as bad as the time she'd fallen a good forty yards downwards and landed flat on her right ankle. Now _that_ was probably the most painful thing she'd ever truly felt. Poor Vereesa didn't have to witness that...

Instead of pain, however, Sylvanas felt a pang of longing. She longed to be someplace else, with someone else.

She longed to be by Lake Elrendar with Halduron Brightwing, firing arrows at passing game. She longed to be sitting there by the flowing water, discussing firing tips with him. She longed to be laughing as his arrow missed a fat lynx that practically sat, almost tamed, on his toes. She longed to see his smile again. They could have been related, true, but all the High Elves of Quel'Thalas seemed to resemble one another in some way. The brother and sister who died had their own army of kin with dark hair and dark skin, Grand Magister Rommath included, incidentally. Sylvanas and Halduron had lighter skin and hair of the same light-blonde shade. Same with Dath'Remar, Lor'themar and Kael'Thas. He seemed to want to smile just that little bit brighter than her. She didn't mind. She did smile a lot, but only because she was happy, not out of competition. Halduron seemed to understand her love for the bow and arrow.

"If I ever have to stand down as Ranger-General, I'd let you take my place," she said to him one day, grinning.

He laughed. "Stand down? You'd die before you stood down!"

She remembered the sudden feeling of sadness she felt as she said "If I ever do...will you be there?"

Again, he laughed. He was _always_ so happy. No wonder she felt so...different around him.

He slipped his hand into hers. He'd done this before, but out of friendship. This felt almost...romantic?

"I'll always be there for you, Sylvanas. And if that day ever comes, which is very unlikely, I'll take your place. No negotiation!"

Sylvanas smiled at him, letting him stroke her fingers softly. Was this love? She didn't know. She'd never fallen in love before.

"Thank you," she said. "Let's rest a while,"

Halduron smiled a little less brightly. It looked like more of a _By the Gods, how long have I been walking?_ kind of smile.

"Thought you'd never ask, sweet lady,"

Lying under the sunset, still flashing behind her eyelids, she remembered the pleasure she felt when he called her "sweet lady". She longed for him to be here, holding her hand, gently wiping the blood from her forehead and telling her it'd all be alright, he'd take her place without negotiation from Kael'Thas or anybody. She longed for him to place his gentle fingers over her eyelids and tell her to rest, tell her nobody could hurt her again, that he'd miss her but always care for her and love her. But he wasn't here. She'd probably never see him again. She'd never get to say "Dal'ah Sur'fal". She didn't know if it was true, but she'd hoped he'd be the first. The worst that could happen would be him taking it as a joke. How she longed for that moment.

More tears fell.

She longed for home, too, in Windrunner Village. She longed to be laying by the sea with her sisters.

Oh, her sisters! Alleria and Vereesa...how could she possibly have forgotten?

Her mind took her back to the time when her dear parents were still living and herself and Alleria were waiting in their bedroom. The waiting was agonizing. Sylvanas was still young and very afraid. Alleria had her arms around her, soothing her, telling her everything would be okay. Sylvanas wasn't very convinced. Alleria was never wrong, so why did she suspect she was lying? After a time, Alleria began to cry and Sylvanas felt hopeless. If her big sister had given up, what hope did they have?

At long last, the wait was over. Her mother and father slid past the silhouetted curtains to their two daughters, a bundle in their arms.

"What is it, mother?" asked Alleria.

Sylvanas had never seen her mother look so happy and so tired at the same time.

"Your sister, Vereesa," she said, tears running down her face.

Alleria screamed in delight and took baby Vereesa from their mother. Sylvanas wrapped her arms around her father, tears in her eyes and a huge smile on her face.

"I can't believe it, father," she whispered to him.

"I know, I know," her father whispered back.

"I'm a big sister now!" she said, perhaps a little loudly.

"Shh! It took us hours to calm her down," her father said.

Too late, though. Vereesa was beginning to wail and squirm in Alleria's arms. Her mother took her back, but hours passed and baby Vereesa was still crying. She went from her mother to her father to Alleria. Her family seemed to be forgetting about her.

"Mother, let me try," she said.

She was expecting her mother to protest, but she must have been really tired, because she just handed Vereesa to Sylvanas muttering something about holding her correctly.

The pride in Sylvanas's chest swelled as she held Vereesa in her arms for the first time. Surprisingly, her baby sister stopped wailing. She relaxed in Sylvanas's arms, her head resting upon the crook of her shoulder.

Alleria appeared beside her with a wet towel. With it, Sylvanas mopped Vereesa's eyes and nose. The tears had ceased completely.

"She's beautiful," Alleria whispered. "How did you get her to stop crying?"

Sylvanas smiled at Alleria. "Same reason only _you_ could stop _me_ crying when _I _was a baby, I'd reckon,"

She turned to her parents. Her mother looked so tired. Then again, she hadn't slept for two days. And Vereesa felt quite heavy in her arms.

"Why don't you take mother to bed, father? Me and Alleria can take care of Vereesa," she said.

"Do you think you're ready, daughter?" said her father.

Sylvanas winked at him. "I'll give my all, anyway,"

Her mother smiled wearily. "Thank you, my princesses. I must regain my strength,"

Their father led her out of the room to the top of the spire, where they slept.

Sylvanas took Vereesa over to the small basin, where she filled it with hot water and scented bubbles. While Alleria set up Vereesa's cot, Sylvanas bathed her.

It was the first time she saw Vereesa's full body. Her eyes (like all High-Elves) were bright blue with a dark pupil in the middle. Her whiskery wisps of eyebrows were a light blonde shade and her ears, like her mother's, curled slightly downwards at the top.

She inherited something from everybody in the family; her mother's ears, her father's hair, Alleria's button nose and soft, rosebud-coloured lips.

Well, almost everybody.

Looking closely, she saw that her dark pupil, like her own, was outlined with purple. She was happy, but it was hardly noticeable. Nobody would've said "You have your sister's eyes" without having to get very close to her. But there was bound to be something more noticeable. Alleria and Sylvanas could have been twins, had Alleria not been that head taller and with a bit more wave to her hair. Maybe Vereesa would grow into the family inheritance tree.

Vereesa liked bubbles. She splashed and giggled toothlessly, poking at the ones that tried to float away. Her eyes widened when they popped.

"Pop!" Sylvanas said, giggling. "Pop! Pop!"

Vereesa laughed hysterically, continuing to burst the bubbles, while Sylvanas played along, smiling with love and adoration at her baby sister.

"Don't get her too excited, Sylvie. She's going to have to sleep, soon," Alleria said, finally finishing setting up her cot.

Sylvanas sighed, fatigue suddenly hitting her like a gust of wind. "We should sing her something,"

"I'll leave that to you," said Alleria, winking.

Sylvanas lifted Vereesa out of the basin and wrapped her in a towel. While she dried her, Alleria (clearly feeling a bit sentimental) braided her hair down her back. She was whisper-singing some song their mother sang when they were younger. The words were strange and difficult to remember, yet the tune was always there.

Alleria dressed Vereesa in a sweet, lilac onesie and settled her into her cot. Sylvanas leant over and pouted her lips, while Vereesa giggled. Then she began to sing. The words were meaningless, Thalassian laments her mother sang when she felt sad. To Sylvanas, they sounded quite peaceful and relaxing. Sometimes she even sang _herself_ to sleep with one of them. To her, they didn't sound as sad as they did to her mother. And she had a beautiful voice, so pure and relaxing, like the waves on the beach outside the Spire.

Vereesa's eyes began to flicker. She lifted one tiny arm in the air, as though unsure what to grab. Sylvanas pressed her thumb in her palm and Vereesa gripped it with might, as though she couldn't bear to let it go. She met her big sister's eyes and grinned again, not laughing, just a pure, fresh, toothless smile. Almost identical to Sylvanas's, just minus the teeth.

Alleria put her arm around Sylvanas and smiled.

"She favours you," she whispered, as Vereesa's eyes fluttered shut.

"It looks like it," Sylvanas whispered back.

"She has your smile,"

Vereesa loosened her grip and Alleria gently placed her arm down and tucked it under the light quilt.

Sylvanas's bed was already freshly made, but when Alleria asked if she wanted to sleep with her that night, she didn't refuse. Alleria enveloped her in her arms and both sisters fell asleep almost instantly, tired and emotional yet happier than they'd ever felt, in one another's arms.

Alleria was right. Vereesa definitely favoured Sylvanas. As Vereesa grew older, she'd never settle down to rest in anybody else's arms, she'd always squeeze Sylvanas's fingers tighter than anybody else's, and to top it all off, her first word was "Sylva". Even when their parents died on a quest in Northrend, Alleria didn't hesitate to leave Vereesa with Sylvanas when she hunted game.

Sylvanas's foggy mind took her to another night when Vereesa was just entering adolescence. Sylvanas and Alleria still shared a room. Alleria had just stocked up on fresh game for the week and Sylvanas was not long back from her Apprentice Ranger's lesson. Vereesa spent the day with High Elven friends of hers, but was brought back to Windrunner Spire before any of her older sisters got home. She was fast asleep when they got there, and since both sisters were tired themselves, they decided to leave her be and go to bed themselves. Sylvanas felt as though her head had just touched the pillow when she heard Vereesa scream. Yet the moon and stars were out, so she must have slept.

"You go check on her, Syl," Alleria mumbled.

Sighing, Sylvanas struggled out of her bed and pulled on her silk dressing gown. She let her blonde hair fall loose around her collar bone.

"It's always _me_, isn't it, Allie?" she grumbled to her sister.

"She settles better with you," Alleria replied, pulling the sheets back over herself and falling asleep again.

Sylvanas left her bedroom, yawning, and went down to Vereesa. She was sitting up in her bed, gasping hysterically.

"What happen, Vereese?" Sylvanas said, but all Vereesa could do was gasp.

Sylvanas sat on the edge of her bed and wrapped her arms around Vereesa, rocking her back and forth, making soft, shushing noises. Vereesa gripped her hand tightly, sobbing dryly.

"Nightmare?" Sylvanas asked softly, to which Vereesa replied with a nod.

"I want mother and father back," she said, her body quivering.

"Me too, sister. Me too," whispered Sylvanas.

At that point, she rocked her and sang to her until her body relaxed and her eyes closed. She was asleep again. Sylvanas knew it would be best to go back to her room if she wanted a good night's sleep before Ranger training the next day, but she tucked Vereesa under the covers and climbed in beside her, wrapping her arms around her and falling asleep. She expected Vereesa to wake up screaming again, but she didn't.

Another time, Sylvanas was walking around her village, shooting fat birds from the trees with her bow. She'd become very skilled at aim and hunting and actually enjoyed stocking up her home with meat.

Vereesa, now a young, beautiful adolescent with a smile identical to Sylvanas's, sat with her. Her hair was a little wavy, as she'd been in the water earlier, and she carried a pad of paper and a colourful quill.

"Where's Alleria gone, Sylvie?" she asked.

"Probably up in Silvermoon. She's growing up now, Vereesa. She can't stay here all the time," Sylvanas replied.

"Oh. Only I have something for her," said Vereesa, suddenly flushing. "And you too, actually,"

Sylvanas smiled, and Vereesa copied. She could have been looking in a mirror.

Opening her pad of paper, she scrolled through a number of pages and finally stopping at one halfway through the pad.

Sylvanas gasped as Vereesa showed her a beautiful, perfect drawing of her, right down to the last detail. The bow was positioned correctly on her shoulders, the tiny scratch under her eye that she had at the time, her blonde hair blowing back in the wind, the lips shaped in a perfect cupid's bow stretched in a smile, bright white teeth, prominently shaped eyebrows, her kiss curl on the left side pinned behind her long ear...it was literally so perfect she really could have been looking in a mirror.

"Oh Vereesa..." Sylvanas said, speechless.

"I spent the past two weeks on it. I thought it'd make you feel better," Vereesa said.

"It's beautiful, Vereese," said Sylvanas.

"Really? You're not just saying that?" said Vereesa nervously.

"No, I meant it. It's absolutely perfect..." replied Sylvanas, her voice cracking on the last word.

She put her arms around Vereesa and hugged her. It truly was a beautiful picture. She asked Vereesa to sign it before she framed it and hung it on her wall, just by her bed. She looked at it every night before she slept, smiling to herself. It was something you could never replace.

She longed to see it now.

In return, she crafted Vereesa her own arrow, smoothing and glazing the wood until it was perfectly straight with no splinters, tipping it with sharp, lethal iron and engraving an inscription down the side: "_Dearest Vereesa, eternal love, from Sylvanas," _

She decided to make one for Alleria as well, tipping it with steel instead of iron, and a slightly different inscription: _Dear Alleria, love for always, your sister Sylvanas," _

Alleria gave her a sparkling blue hairbrush in return, but Sylvanas couldn't remember the inscription on the side. She wished she could hold it one last time. She wished she could feel Alleria's hair tickling her shoulder, smelling like pond lilies, as she enveloped her in a hug. She wished she could hold Vereesa one last time in her arms, kissing her hair and promising her all would be okay.

But she would probably never see her sisters again. Even if she _did_ survive this, who was to say her sisters would? Who was to say Halduron Brightwing would? If Kael'Thas came back to all his people dead, what would he say? What would he do? How would he feel? Who was still alive? Was Dath'Remar Sunstrider still standing? Had Lor'Themar Theron persevered?

The poison had now spread evenly throughout her entire body. She was locked in paralysis. She could only hope Arthas didn't find her. She didn't know what tortures he had planned for her, but she wasn't ready to endure them. She felt hidden, she felt safe and the pain was beginning to ease. It really _was_ less painful than the time she broke her ankle, given the fact the pain from the stab only lasted a few minutes, whereas hours passed and her ankle still throbbed painfully.

There was no physical pain left apart from the odd sting of a wound. She was getting tired. Maybe she was dying...she certainly hoped so. If she couldn't protect her rangers, what was to stop her from joining them altogether?

She fell into a sleep of which was filled with the most beautiful dreams; she saw her sisters in Silvermoon, smiling at her, assuring her all was okay, she saw Halduron Brightwing, winking, laughing, telling her she'd just had a terrible nightmare. Lor'Themar was still observing the Quel'Dorei from Sunfury Spire, vigilant but nonetheless content. Dath'Remar asked her to see his bow and after a few minutes inspection, handed it back to her, telling her she'd earned it, she truly _was_ the best ranger in Quel'Thalas.

She felt herself be shaken awake. Surprised, she tried to sit up, but gasped in pain as she tried to stretch her limbs. The poison was wearing off, but the after affects were causing her body distress and discomfort.

Yelping in shock, she saw two abominations, two giant, glaring, bloody undead looking down at her.

"Master want you," the first one said.

"He kill you," the other mused.

They pulled Sylvanas to her feet. She gasped as pain rippled through her body.

Night had fallen and the stars and moon had come out. She took one last look at the moonlit sky, fearing it may be the last time she ever saw it, then she surrendered, feeling somewhat relieved Dath'Remar's longbow touched her shoulder blade. It was as though a piece of him was still with her, still protecting her and making sure she'd never get hurt.


End file.
